Story snippet
“Oh honey,” trilled the bottle-blond sales clerk, in her most money-hungry purr, “You’ve just gotta try this.”
The smile on her lips was as fake as her Jack O’Lantern tan. The gold nametag on her chest said Debbie- and like any other person who has spent a Christmas in retail, her eyes were filled with poison.
Like a frightened horse, I reared back from her outstretched hand, as if she was holding a vial of acid under that atomizer.
“No thanks, allergies!” I quickly muttered, scooting out of her firing range before she had the chance to let her itchy squeezing muscles make the decision for me. My brain didn’t even register the barely-concealed look of hatred she shot me as I veered away.
I don’t know why I’d come to the mall that day. Probably boredom, maybe feeling like there was something I needed that I didn’t yet know about lurking amongst those store shelves. It was a Saturday, and I’d been home alone. The siren of Commerce and Community had beckoned me out of my hiding place, and now I was regretting it like I always did - hot and sweaty from the miniature suns they seem to install in the ceilings of such places, legs cramping from untold miles of slow walking.
I was getting ready to call it a day when I noticed the small shop in one dimly-lit corner.
My memory vaguely recalled there being some sort of pot shop occupying that spot, filled to the brim with the kind of mass-manufactured hippie couture that hadn’t been popular since the 70’s. I worked in one at a time in my life where I thought selling things like shitty Katana swords that somehow bent halfway down the blade was the height of cool. They never last, and the next fly-by-night operation takes its place.
Curiously though, this place seemed to be attracting a crowd. A throng of shoppers seemed to have converged on the place from nowhere, filling the shop to the brim with women shuffling from display to display, picking things up and setting them down.
Sniffing.
Testing.
Judging.
Selecting.
Looking around, I didn’t see the name of the shop, and it wasn’t immediately clear what they were selling. But curiosity is curiosity.
Crossing the threshold, I almost immediately felt the air pressure change, and I felt eyes upon me.
Hungry eyes. Sell-you-something eyes. Not so unusual, of course. But these felt somehow wrong.
Intrusive. Predatory.
The entire shop seemed to be only a few strides across, with almost no decorations or signs save for the displays of products themselves. Bottles, tins, tubs, and vials of stuff seemed to be everywhere, none of it marked. But still, the shop was filled with a surprising number of other women, shuffling from place to place.
A breathless, high-pitched voice squeaked in my ear, coming from somewhere near my elbow.
“Can I help you find something today?” Turning, I could see it belonged to a rather pale, willowy young girl of about eighteen. She looked like she needed some sunlight, her skin tone almost bluish against the darkness of her brunette locks. Must be bad lighting in here, I thought to myself.
She was smiling so brightly it was almost a grimace, and standing just this side of “too close to be socially acceptable”.
“No, just browsing I’m afraid,” I said tersely, backing up. She moved closer, her ruby-painted lips contrasting sharply with her moonlight-colored skin. I remember thinking about blood on newly fallen snow.
“Let-me-tell-you-about-our-specials! We’ve- got- a-two-for-one-deal-on-some-really-amazing-products, they’re-just-to-die-for!” she twittered, launching into the perfectly cadenced pitch of someone who says the same two sentences fifteen thousand times a day, and probably repeats it in their sleep.
“No, that’s OK, I’m really just looking,” I said again, trying make my voice as flat as possible.
She appeared undeterred. “Make sure to try everything, it’s so good! It will make you feel really pretty!” she chirped, before dashing off to assault the next unsuspecting patron with her salesmanship. I could hear her starting “Let-me-tell-you-about-our-specials” again, and moved over to one of the displays.
The placard sitting next to a group of small, glass vials filled with a greenish liquid said Eternal Youth in elegant, careful script. An older woman was picking up a bottle, peering at it and twisting it this way and that, like a strange new species of insect had make its way inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The smile on her lips was as fake as her Jack O’Lantern tan. The gold nametag on her chest said Debbie- and like any other person who has spent a Christmas in retail, her eyes were filled with poison.
Like a frightened horse, I reared back from her outstretched hand, as if she was holding a vial of acid under that atomizer.
“No thanks, allergies!” I quickly muttered, scooting out of her firing range before she had the chance to let her itchy squeezing muscles make the decision for me. My brain didn’t even register the barely-concealed look of hatred she shot me as I veered away.
I don’t know why I’d come to the mall that day. Probably boredom, maybe feeling like there was something I needed that I didn’t yet know about lurking amongst those store shelves. It was a Saturday, and I’d been home alone. The siren of Commerce and Community had beckoned me out of my hiding place, and now I was regretting it like I always did - hot and sweaty from the miniature suns they seem to install in the ceilings of such places, legs cramping from untold miles of slow walking.
I was getting ready to call it a day when I noticed the small shop in one dimly-lit corner.
My memory vaguely recalled there being some sort of pot shop occupying that spot, filled to the brim with the kind of mass-manufactured hippie couture that hadn’t been popular since the 70’s. I worked in one at a time in my life where I thought selling things like shitty Katana swords that somehow bent halfway down the blade was the height of cool. They never last, and the next fly-by-night operation takes its place.
Curiously though, this place seemed to be attracting a crowd. A throng of shoppers seemed to have converged on the place from nowhere, filling the shop to the brim with women shuffling from display to display, picking things up and setting them down.
Sniffing.
Testing.
Judging.
Selecting.
Looking around, I didn’t see the name of the shop, and it wasn’t immediately clear what they were selling. But curiosity is curiosity.
Crossing the threshold, I almost immediately felt the air pressure change, and I felt eyes upon me.
Hungry eyes. Sell-you-something eyes. Not so unusual, of course. But these felt somehow wrong.
Intrusive. Predatory.
The entire shop seemed to be only a few strides across, with almost no decorations or signs save for the displays of products themselves. Bottles, tins, tubs, and vials of stuff seemed to be everywhere, none of it marked. But still, the shop was filled with a surprising number of other women, shuffling from place to place.
A breathless, high-pitched voice squeaked in my ear, coming from somewhere near my elbow.
“Can I help you find something today?” Turning, I could see it belonged to a rather pale, willowy young girl of about eighteen. She looked like she needed some sunlight, her skin tone almost bluish against the darkness of her brunette locks. Must be bad lighting in here, I thought to myself.
She was smiling so brightly it was almost a grimace, and standing just this side of “too close to be socially acceptable”.
“No, just browsing I’m afraid,” I said tersely, backing up. She moved closer, her ruby-painted lips contrasting sharply with her moonlight-colored skin. I remember thinking about blood on newly fallen snow.
“Let-me-tell-you-about-our-specials! We’ve- got- a-two-for-one-deal-on-some-really-amazing-products, they’re-just-to-die-for!” she twittered, launching into the perfectly cadenced pitch of someone who says the same two sentences fifteen thousand times a day, and probably repeats it in their sleep.
“No, that’s OK, I’m really just looking,” I said again, trying make my voice as flat as possible.
She appeared undeterred. “Make sure to try everything, it’s so good! It will make you feel really pretty!” she chirped, before dashing off to assault the next unsuspecting patron with her salesmanship. I could hear her starting “Let-me-tell-you-about-our-specials” again, and moved over to one of the displays.
The placard sitting next to a group of small, glass vials filled with a greenish liquid said Eternal Youth in elegant, careful script. An older woman was picking up a bottle, peering at it and twisting it this way and that, like a strange new species of insect had make its way inside.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~